


Distraction

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-25
Updated: 2011-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 18:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While studying for his Auror exams, Harry becomes distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction

The light of day wanes, the sunlight falling in slivers of orange-grey across Harry as he sits, surrounded by books and parchment, on his bed. His eyelids feel immeasurably heavy, as though the weight of all that he has read and revised today is bearing down upon them, urging them to fall closed; urging Harry to sleep.

But sleep he cannot.

At least, not yet. This chapter – yes, he needs to finish this chapter and then – maybe, just maybe – he can close his eyes for a few minutes. Or, at the very least put his books to one side for a moment and just breathe.

Sighing, Harry arches his back and extends his arms in a long, laborious stretch before taking up his quill once more.

Yes, just one more chapter ...

*

Seconds pass, becoming minutes, and the silence of Harry's study is marred only by the scrape of parchment as he turns the pages of his book; as he sporadically etches a few notes. At least, until he hears the front door being heaved open and the familiar footfall of Ron's gait as he tramps down the narrow hall of the flat to Harry's bedroom.

"Harry?" he calls out. He kicks his boots off between steps. The soles collide with a dull _thud_ against the timber skirting.

"In here," Harry replies through barely parted lips; his brow knitted in concentration.

"Bloody hell," Ron says as he shuffles into the room, "You still at it?"

"Yeah. 'fraid so."

"Geez," Ron eases onto the bed behind Harry, "You'd just about give Hermione a run for her money."

Harry shakes his head, he smiles at Ron. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, eh? How was work?"

Ron shrugs. "OK I suppose." He lies back, resting his head on the pillow; his long legs brush against Harry as he swings them up onto the bed. "Quiet," Ron adds with a yawn, "They probably could've done without me."

"Mmm."

"Oi, are you listening?" Ron reaches out: he runs a finger along the length of Harry's spine. Harry shivers and arches his back instinctively.

"Not now, Ron."

"C'mon, Harry. You could do with a break." Ron raises himself up from his prostrate position. He inches towards Harry, the covers bunching beneath him. Sitting beside Harry, he extends a long leg and nudges Harry's books over the edge of the bed.

They land on the floor with a dull _thud._

"Ron," Harry says in irritation, but it does not last long: Ron has slipped his hand underneath Harry's tee shirt and plucks at his nipples. They harden under Ron's touch, and Harry gasps.

"Ron," he repeats, though it is less admonishment than Harry intends.

"Yes, Harry?" Ron whispers. He smirks. He presses his hands flat to Harry's chest and pushes him back on the bed.

"Ouch," Harry hisses, landing awkwardly on a particularly hefty volume. With a groan, he heaves it to one side and eases back against the bed.

"Better?" Ron asks as he positions himself above Harry and, leaning in, runs his tongue over Harry's neck, pausing to flick his tongue over his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Merlin," Harry moans, raising his hips against Ron, who grinds, hard, back against him as they kiss; all tongues and teeth and unremitting grunts.

Writhing against Harry, Ron lifts Harry's shirt over his head and Harry, taking up Ron's lead, scrambles to relieve Ron of his trousers. Shirts and pants are discarded amid a flurry of groping hands and heavy breathing. Ron parts Harry's legs and pushes them back to meet his chest, fully exposing Harry's cock and arse.

Ron's mouth splits into a wide grin, the same wide grin as when he thinks he's put one over on Fred and George but hasn't really, and he leans in for another kiss. Harry arches up to meet his lips and as he does, the swollen head of Ron's cock brushes against his abdomen, causing Ron to moan with desire.

Pulling back, Ron rests a hand against Harry's belly; where the skin is soft and the hairs that trail from navel to groin are coarse. He keeps his hand there – a steadying force – as he spits into the other. He smears the saliva over the shallow trough that exists between Harry's cock and inner thigh and, biting his lip, he slides his prick into the sparsely lubricated dip.

Ron fucks laboriously at first, slowly; wholly drawing the length of his cock along Harry's thigh. Frotting against Harry, his breath shortens; it comes, in sharp, stuttering gasps amid incoherent murmurs of _yes_ and _fuck_ and _MerlinHarryitfeelssofuckinggood_.

While Ron thrusts, Harry moves under him. Spitting into his hand, he takes a firm hold of his own cock and closes his fist around its girth, jerking. Soon, he and Ron are little more than a jumble of writhing pink flesh and mumbled exaltations of pleasure.

As Harry's hand pumps with increasing ferocity, his fingers and thumb teasingteasing _teasing_ the bulbous head of his cock, he can feel his orgasm radiating through him; sparking deep in his belly and fanning out, ecstasy swallowing him as he achieves his release; white-hot semen spurting from him, falling over fist and fingers and collecting in the wiry, black hairs between his legs.

"Shit," Ron swears, seeing Harry come. Sweat accumulating on his brow, he gazes open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the boy below him; at flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair and come drying on his stomach and he gropes, desperately, for his own cock now. Long, freckled fingers wrapped around his throbbing prick, Ron eases back and brings himself to a shuddering, expletive-riddled climax, bathing Harry's softening cock with his come.

He rolls to the side of Harry, falling back against him on the bed.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron says, as sweat and semen co-mingle on their bodies; "bloody hell."

Wordlessly, Harry nods. He absent-mindedly trails a finger through the sticky mess on his cock and thighs and belly, brings it to his lips, and sucks his finger clean, smiling at Ron as he does so; all thoughts of study forgotten.


End file.
